Harry Potter and the Constant Fight
by starlock
Summary: 'It's your fault Sirius died' he whispered to himself.  Back at the Dursley's, Harry is pushed into the underworld; of battles, fighting and vampires. But will he return to the Wizarding world? Set summer post OOTP Warning: Violence
1. Introduction

**Harry Potter and the Constant Fight **

* * *

Introduction:

**Synopsis:**

Post OOTP. Grief seeps into his bones and the summer stretched before him. A summer filled with vampires, underground fights and wars. Will Harry ever return to the wizarding world? Warnings.

**Background:**

Set after book 5 'HP and Order of the Phoenix', Harry returns to the Dursley's for the summer filled with grief and loss over Sirius's death, feeling he cannot escape the guilt. But Vernon has other ideas and needs Harry's help to fund his gambling habit. And so the summer begins.

**Disclaimer:**

All the characters that you love and recognise, are obviously not my own and are under the ownership of their original author of J.K Rowling. I do not gain financially or receive anything from the writings of this work. The other characters are of my own making and thus are of my own property.

**Reviews:**

I really like to receive reviews from the readers of this story. Please comment on the storyline, spelling or grammar mistakes (Which I am sure are plentiful, even after careful checking) but remember that as I am not the original writer of Harry Potter, do not expect the characters to display the same personalities.

_I hope you enjoy the story. Thank you for reading._


	2. Chapter 1: First Guilt

**Harry Potter and the Constant Fight**

**

* * *

**

Synopsis: Post OOTP. Grief seeps into his bones and the summer stretched before him. A summer filled with vampires, underground fights and wars. Will Harry ever return to the wizarding world? Warnings: violence.

* * *

**Chapter One: First Guilt **

It was going to be a long summer, Harry decided.

He had only been in the car for 15 minutes, driving home from Kings Cross train station and already, his Uncle Vernon was angry with him. It seemed that, although the members of the Order had meant well, in warning the Dursley's to be 'nice' to Harry, it was having the opposite effect on his Uncle.

"Boy, if there is even a smell of your freakishness, you will be out on the streets. Mark my words. I will not be intimidated by freaks! If you are living under my roof, then you will be living by my rules".

Vernon turned around in his driver's seat, to see whether his words hit home and to see if Harry would react. But Harry was used to such threats and just continued to stare out of the backseat window; much to the annoyance of Vernon. Harry expected Vernon to get angry, so he carefully watching the man from the corner of his eye, for any hit of red in the man's neck, which would indicate whether he was going to blow a fuse.

"Boy! Look at me when I'm talking to you. Show me some respect." Vernon shouted and moved to hit Harry in the leg to get his attention.

However, Harry was too quick, being a seeker did have it merits, and he moved his legs out of Vernon's reach.

_So much for a peaceful summer_, Harry thought, then chuckling _'when has it ever been peaceful at the Dursley's?_ He continued to stare out of the window, ignoring Vernon's rant.

He watched the people, who were passed by the car. They all seemed to be wrapped up their own lives, concerned only with problems of unpaid bills, lover's tiffs or problems with their other halves. They were oblivious of the world of magic, the ongoing war and of Voldemort's growing powers and supporters.

He was envious of these people and their lives. What he wouldn't give to live a day in their lives and to not worry about defeating Voldemort or about bearing the weight of the guilt he felt over Sirius' death.

His daydream was shattered, when Vernon slammed on the breaks of the car, hard. The force pushed Harry up against his seatbelt. Adrenalin pumped through his body, as he looked around for any sign of trouble or Death Eater's.

However, the pavement seemed quiet. But judging from Vernon's almost maroon next, the danger wasn't from the outside but from Vernon.

Uncle Vernon opened his car door and jumped out as fast as the overlarge man could. He moved the grab the handle on Harry's door. Harry tried to scramble out of the other door by sliding across the seats.

However, Harry escape attempt was thwarted when Vernon seized one of his ankles and painfully dragged the boy towards him.

Harry grimaced at the pain.

He started up at the face of Vernon. He noticed that Vernon had lost weight, making his face look gaunt and tired. Looking down at Vernon's figure, he saw that the man was not as large as the year before.

_Dudley's diet must have really worked_, he thought.

His eyes travelled back up to meet Vernon's- where green met blue. His stomach did a sort of back flip, when he stared into the man eyes. There was no mercy found there. If the eyes were a window into a person soul, Harry wondered looking at Vernon, was there anyone home?

The feeling that Vernon was a little touched in the head was not a new concept, if Harry's life growing up was anything to go by.

He knew that Vernon did not care for him in the slightest. Vernon viewed him as a burden, a freak, something to be tolerated only as long as he was useful. And Harry had been useful; as a slave doing chores around the house, as someone to blame; for anything broken in the house, Dudley's low grades and even once, even for the bad weather.

He was also useful as someone who Vernon could take his anger out on, a slap and a punch here and there. He had positively encouraged Dudley and his gang to chase and bully him last summer. _No,_ _Vernon was defiantly, one or two balls short of a full Quidditch set_.

Thus, Harry knew that nothing Vernon was about to do or say, would be nice.

Vernon grabbed Harry's shirt and pulled him close to his face. He was so close that with every word Vernon spoke, flecks of spit landed on his face.

'Boy, you will learn this summer to show me some respect, even if it kills you. Don't think I took you back lightly this summer. I know what you are and I know what you have done.' His low voice was menacing.

Harry was a little confused; what had he done?

'Oh, you didn't think we would know about you, did you boy? The fact that you murdered your godfather.'

The sentence seemed to hang there is midair.

Harry stiffened under Vernon's grip. The last thing he wanted to think about was Sirius. Even the thought of his godfather felt like a stabbing pain to his heart.

Although, Vernon was wrong in calling him a murderer, as it was Bellatrix Lestrange who had administered the final blow, Harry still felt a deep sense of guilt. It was he, who had foolishly led his friends to the Ministry, almost leading them to their deaths. It was because of him that Sirius was even in the Department of Mysteries that night. To Harry, he hadn't dealt the final blow, but he was as much as guilty of his death as Lestrange was.

So, Harry did not have a reply for Vernon.

Vernon seemed to sense the defeat in the boy. Although it surprised him that he'd given up so easily, Vernon was not one to miss a good threat.

'There is no one left to care about you. And there is no one to save you. You will do whatever I say, when I say it, without hesitation. You are mine until the summer ends boy.' He pushed Harry away from him, like he was something hot.

He chuckled to himself.

'You maybe mine for longer, if no one comes to pick you up.'

Harry slid down onto the back seat of the car in a daze. Vernon pushed his legs in and slammed the car door and drove away.

For the rest of the car journey, Harry had no interest in people watching.

He was disgusted with himself; he felt he didn't even deserve to daydream about living other person's life. It was he, who had messed up his own life, with his childish decisions. And he had to deal with the consequences. He wondered briefly, what would happen to him, if the order did not come for him this summer or if he was not wanted back at Hogwarts, after what he had done.

He closed his eyes, and willed himself not to cry. But beneath his eyelids, all he could see, as if on repeat, was Sirius falling through the veil; again and again.

And it was all Harry's fault.

* * *

_Thank you for reading. __Please, if you have time review. _


	3. Chapter 2: Welcome Home

**Harry Potter and the Constant Fight **

**Background:**

Set after book 5 'HP and Order of the Phoenix', Harry returns to the Dursley's for the summer filled with grief and loss over Sirius's death, feeling he cannot escape the guilt. But Vernon has other ideas and needs Harry's help to fund his gambling habit. And so the summer begins.

**Disclaimer:**

All the characters that you love and recognise, are obviously not my own and are under the ownership of their original author of J.K Rowling. I do not gain financially or receive anything from the writings of this work. The other characters are of my own making and thus are of my own property.

* * *

**Chapter Two: **

It was dark by the time; they arrived back at the Dursley's. Home, Harry thought sarcastically looking up at the house that had never felt like a home should. Vernon had not said anything to Harry for the rest of their journey, and he was relieved about that. Anything Vernon said would only make him feel worse.

Vernon got out of the car and slammed the door shut and walked up into the house, leaving Harry alone.

He breathed out, thinking as the car engine cooled down. The darkness seemed to press in on the car, making him feel more alone than ever before. He looked out into the darkness, and wondered how people become evil. Do they let the darkness in through one big act or is it through actions changing a person bit by bit. Will there be a day when, his soul will be as dark as the night outside? But the darkness didn't hold any answers. He sighed.

He needed to make a plan. He had damaged the trust between him and the Order though his foolish actions. If he could not rely on the Order, and he was a danger to his friend's lives, the only person he could rely on was himself.

So with this knowledge, he knew that he had to build himself up to be stronger and more independent than ever. He knew that this would mean cutting himself of from his friends, but he knew this was in their best interests. It would also mean studying more, being stronger physically and always being prepared. Constant Vigilance, he thought to himself thinking of Professor Moody. He needed to change if he and the people he cared about were going to survive this war.

But, in the quiet hum of the car, with the darkness pressing in on Harry, the loneliness still threatened to overwhelm him. He wondered when this guilt, over everything he had done, would stop eating him and when this gaping hole that grief had created would heal. It was only in the darkness that Harry cried silent tears.

* * *

Later, Harry entered the house.

'What took you so long boy?' Grumbled Vernon from the living room. He had heard Harry struggle to get his trunk into the house.

'Sorry' he mumbled, as he looked around the dimly lit hallway.

The house was in a mess. Last summer, it would have been odd for even one of the many photos to be out of place. Now, the wall paper in the hallway was scuffed and torn. Many of the photos, which had pictorially shown Dudley growing up, were missing. He walked into the kitchen. Even in there were signs of wear. Absent were the microwave and fridge, leaving a dirty space where they previously sat. The four chaired table had become three sometime between last summer and now.

He wondered what had happened but knew better then to ask.

Harry manoeuvred his trunk up the stairs and onto the landing.

As he walked past Dudley's room, he paused to peak in. Pressing his ear up against the door, he heard no movement or sound. Seeing it was safe to go in, he opened the door. His mouth fell open. Gone were all Dudley's gadgets and possessions. Without them, the room was bare and empty. Even the bed was gone. Obviously Dudley hadn't been sleeping in this room in a long time as the dust was thick upon the floor. Very strange, he thought to himself.

Closing the room door behind him, he went to his own room. He remembered how it was written on his Hogwarts letter 'the smallest bedroom in the house', which was true but it was better than sleeping in the cupboard under the stairs by a long way.

Looking at the door, he saw the heavy duty locks and cat flap were still present. At least something hasn't changed in the house. He was still treated like a prisoner.

The small room smelt of dust and stale air. It was empty of all furniture, except a dirty old mattress pushed up against the wall. Harry raised his eyebrow, thinking even Snape would be surprised at how the 'boy who lived' actually lived.

Before he could get settled in, (Not that he had anywhere to put his possession into except his trunk) he heard Vernon's heavy footsteps coming up the stairs and his bedroom door being forcefully pushed open.

'Give me your freakish things' he said sternly. A small smile crept upon Harry's lips. It was a comfort to know that Vernon hadn't changed, and that he still couldn't openly talk about the wizarding world. Vernon still feared Harry in some ways.

'What things, Uncle Vernon?' He said in his politest voice. Whoever said 'be nice to your enemies, nothing annoys them so much' was a genius.

'What things! Don't be smart with me boy' His face was quickly turning red. He crossed the room and grabbed Harry by the front of his shirt and pushed him up against the wall. Vernon then proceeded to frisk Harry, searching for his wand.

Harry tried to struggle, but Vernon, who was fitter then last year, still had the upper hand, and it was like struggling against an elephant.

With a bit effort, Vernon located his wand and dropped Harry onto the floor. He watched in a daze, as Vernon emptied his trunk of anything 'freakish', which meant that Harry was left with very little. Later, Harry would see that all he had been left with was a few clothes, which he had inherited from Dudley years ago.

With one last look around the room, Vernon stormed out, with his arms full of the last things which connected Harry with the wizarding world. He listened as Vernon locked them into the cupboard under the stairs.

Harry sat down on the foul smelling mattress and sighed,

'Welcome home, Harry.' He said to himself.

* * *

_Thank you for reading. __Please, if you have time review. _


	4. Chapter 3: The Rage

**Harry Potter and the Fight for Freedom**

* * *

**Author's Note: **Sorry for the delay in updating, I am currently traveling around europe.

* * *

**Chapter Three: **

'Here is your list of jobs to do today. I want them finished by 5pm, when I get back. Or Vernon will be having words with you' Said Petunia, with her voice emotionless.

He watched her pick up her batted handbag and check around the room one last time before she left the house. She did this every day for the last week, since Harry had come back and he had still not figured out where she went every day, all day. Maybe she had gotten a job or something, he wondered.

Every time she did a final glance around the room, Harry imagined her making a mental list of the contents of the room, just in case Harry stole anything. Not that there was anything of value worth stealing.

He didn't know what world Petunia lived in but it wasn't the world of reality.

If she only opened her eyes she would have seen that her precious house had badly fallen into disrepair. She seemed to live in a daze like a zombie these days. He guessed that it may have something to do with the anti-depression medicine he had found in their bedroom when he was cleaning it the other day. He had heard that this type of muggle medicine did stop people from being depressed. But it also makes people feel nothing altogether.

Reaching across the table, he picked up the chore list. He groaned to himself, he was going to have a busy day, if he was going to complete it all.

Underneath the list was a large pile of open letters. With interest mounting, he picked a few up and scanned their contents. The letters were in fact bills; the words MONEY OWED, FINAL REMINDER, and DEBT COLLECTORS stood out in bold. He signed as he looked over the figures owed. He whistled; the amounts were staggering. The Dursley's owed money on their mortgage, and had defaulted on a few loans they had taken out. No wonder the house was in the state it was.

But where had the money gone? He pondered to himself. He put the bills back into their envelopes and hid them once more behind his chore list.

He went to cupboard and pulled out a tin of value beans and an old slice of bread. Yum, cold beans on bread.

It was times like this, that he badly missed the meals that the House elves at Hogwarts made, of shepherd's pie and of treacle tart. It made his mouth water. There was little food going around the house, even less than last year, if that was possible. He wondered how long it would be till he looked as hungry as he felt.

The cold beans slid down this throat almost making him gip with displeasure. But food was food and as long as it was still edible, he would eat it.

Harry spent the rest of the day cleaning the kitchen, and then trimming the hedges in the garden. Throughout the day the sun baked down on his skin. Over the last few days of tidying the garden up, he had moved through the various shades of skin colour and now his skin was beginning to tan and the red was fading.

In the afternoon, for the first time, he took a trip to the local laundrette; using the bit of money Petunia had given him, to wash the household clothes.

He spent the hours waiting for the clothes to wash by trying to figure out what had happened to the Dursley's; why petunia had become like a zombie, where Vernon went all day and much of the night and where Dudley had disappeared to. As the day wore on, his explanations had gotten even wilder to include aliens, spies and terrorism. He had a way overactive imagination.

However, the most logical reason Harry had come up with, was that Vernon had lost his job, and subsequently Petunia had to get a job, so there would still be some money coming into the house.

As for Dudley's disappearance, he had guessed Vernon and him, had argued and he'd moved out. But as for what they had argued about, it was anyone's guess. And for where Dudley had gone, he didn't know.

'I hope he is ok' Harry mumbled to himself, started by the fact he actually cared.

He and Dudley had never gotten on, this much was true, but he would never wish for the boy to be homeless.

He paused for a moment and looked up around the laundrette. It was empty apart from an old lady on the cash desk who was reading a cheap magazine. Harry knew what it was like to not have a real home and for people to not want him around, but Dudley have never experienced his. He wouldn't wish that experience on anyone, not even on Dudley. He just hoped that Dudley was safe.

He moved to put the family's clothes into the machine, and began to check the pockets of Vernon's trousers for any loose change, when he found a few paper slips. While he waited for the washing to spin around, he looked a better look at the bits of paper and realised they were betting slips. His eyes grew wide when he saw the amounts of money he was betting. Vernon seemed to have been betting a lot of money on horses, football; well anything that you could bet on really.

It helped to explain, where Vernon went every day and his mood swings; which were very volatile. They probably corresponded to whether he won or lost his bets, he muttered to himself darkly. No wonder the house was in the state it was in and the cupboards were as bear as they were, if Vernon was losing this much money. What a man Vernon was, flittering away the families money instead of putting food into the empty cupboards, he though angrily.

The anger built up inside him over Vernon's irresponsibility making him kick a nearby chair. The women looked up and scowled at him. He sat down on the chair and tried to calm himself down. He couldn't believe what Vernon was doing, betting hundreds of pounds away when his wife was struggling to feed herself and pay the bills.

The anger simmered and just seemed to join the bottomless pit in his stomach, with the rest of his rage.

As time trickled by, he found that he rather enjoyed his time in the laundrette, waiting for the washer and then the dyer to finish. The sounds were soothing to him. It gave him a rare opportunity to imagine he was somewhere else. Maybe with a family or maybe somewhere he felt safe. He had become rather attached to the white plastic chair on which he sat.

But all daydreams end.

As he hurried to fold up the clothes, fresh from the dyer, and put them into his bag, a deep sense of self loathing filled his empty stomach. In his mind, it was his fault that he didn't have a family. And now he didn't deserve such things.

He had killed the only person who could have given him this dream. Once again the memory unravelled and began to play, of Sirius falling through the veil. He wondered if Sirius was in pain when he died or if knew what was happening?

He hoped with all his heart, that his death was pain free and that he was somewhere safe like the heaven people used to talk about at school. He wished Sirius was in heaven, with his parents, and that he was happy, like he could have been on earth had he the chance.

But Harry didn't want Sirius to be watching him from wherever he was. He didn't want him to see how weak he was and be disappointed in him. Sirius had been a father figure, an uncle and a friend to him. He had been strong, courageous and a good man who never allowed other to sacrifice themselves for him. In short, he was everything Harry wasn't. He worried that Sirius would be ashamed at his decisions, actions and behaviour during his sixth year and during the summer. He knew enough that he was ashamed of it. He wanted and needed to change

Folding away the last of the clothes in the dingy laundrette, he thought about how much he wanted and needed to change. He wished he could be the man which Sirius could have been proud of. Instead, he was just a boy who was lost, weak and alone.

Back at the Dursley's, Harry was putting away the clothes when he heard the front door bang open. Looking over the banister into the downstairs hallways, he first thought it was petunia that was home early. But as he heard a crash, as if someone had walked into the wall, he realised it was Vernon and he was obviously drunk.

'Boy... get down these stairs... get me a drink' he slurred. Harry didn't move.

'I said GET DOWN HERE! DON'T MAKE ME COME AND GET YOU!' He yelled. Harry hurried down the stairs and slid passed Vernon into the living room.

He knew it was a bad idea to get him another drink, but bone tired after completing all this chores, he couldn't be bothered to argue with the man. He hoped that after another drink or two the man would pass out. At least then, Harry could get a few moments peace.

Harry reached down to get the whiskey bottle, one of the few luxuries around the house, and hurried to pour him a drink. But before he'd even unscrewed the bottle, Vernon smashed the glass out of his hand. It fell onto the floor and broke into tiny glass shards, which glittered in the sun. He bent down to pick up some of the larger pieces, when Vernon took a swing at him, or the place his head would have been if he was still standing up.

Vernon overbalanced and ended up on the floor. Harry looked down at the man with disgust. He was filthy, like he hadn't washed in a while, with his clothes stained and there was spit sliding down his chin. What a mess, he thought.

He moved to walk out of the room, but Vernon grabbed his leg. He tried to shake the man off, but even when drunk, Vernon had a strong grip. With one large yank, Harry painfully fell onto the glass ridden floor.

Vernon crawled over to where Harry lay and hissed;

'You think your better than me, murderer? You think you can look down your nose at me? Have you looked at yourself recently?' his foul breath hit harry straight in the face.

Harry licked his lips and grimaced at the pain. He had fallen on the glass, cutting up his hands and leg. Blood was flowing from the cuts.

He looked down at himself, and realised that he didn't look much better then Vernon. His clothes were dirty, baggy and were ridden with holes. In fact, he wouldn't have looked out of place if he was living on the street.

'Do you think your friends would want you back, looking like you do and after when you have done?' Vernon knew just want buttons to press to hurt Harry.

'Your friends barely cared before, leaving you here every summer to rot. You were a burden. They don't even bother to write to you often. And now' he laughed 'the outside matches your inside.'

Harry stared at Vernon. Logically, he knew that the Order and his friends acted in his best interest and did care for him. They did write, although not very often. But he did wonder if they really knew what he went through every summer. Surly it was obvious with his hand-me down clothes and bars on the windows.

The problem was that if it was so obvious, why hadn't they taken him away from the Dursley's? Maybe all he was to them was a weapon for the upcoming war with Voldemort and not a person; an object to be used and discarded.

Vernon moved even loser to Harry, until he could feel the heat from his body. He didn't have time to react at Vernon moved, fist swinging and punched him in the face. Pain shot up Harry's nose creating golden stars in his vision. But the pain didn't last long, as Vernon continued to punch and kick him, as the darkness engulfed him.

* * *

**Authors Note:** Thank you for reading, If you have any comments please review. Thanks.


	5. Chapter 4: The Truth

**Harry Potter and the Constant Fight **

**

* * *

**

**Synopsis:**

Post OOTP. Grief seeps into his bones and the summer stretched before him. A summer filled with vampires, underground fights and wars. Will Harry ever return to the wizarding world? Warnings.

**Story so far:** Harry time at the Durleys so far this summer hasn't been a pleasant one. Filled with unanswered questions; where is Dudley, where does Petunia go in the day, and why has Vernon lost his job? The loneliness and grief is consuming Harry as he falls into darkness, as he struggles to make right decisions and bear the burdens which no teenager should bear.

* * *

**Chapter Four: The Truth  
**

Harry looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. And he hated what he saw.

His signature black messy hair and green eyes stared back at him, almost mocking him. His pale skin looked unhealthy in the dim light.

He wondered what his parents would think if they saw him at that moment. Maybe they could help him through his grief and sadness. Maybe they would give him some guidance about his situation and about right decisions. But he knew it was foolish to wish for things which could not come true.

Would they have made the same decisions, if they had been in his position? Would they have gone to the ministry if they had seen what he had seen? Would they have stayed at the Dursley's or would they have run away, risking capture by death eaters and the death of order members who would have inevitably attempted to rescue him?

Never before had he so badly wanted to talk to someone, anyone. He was tired of making all his decisions alone. Was he doing the right thing of staying at the Dursley?

He tried to smile at his reflection, but it made the fading bruises, which had turned sickly shades of green and yellow, look awful. He gingerly touched his nose, almost yelping in pain, as it was still tender to the touch. It was obviously broken, and even though he'd attempted to realign it, it was still crooked.

He chuckled at the thought that it made he look like a bad boy or something, even if the reality was the opposite.

It had been nearly a week since Vernon had attacked him, and whilst he hadn't laid another finger on him, he could still feel tension in the air. Subsequently, Harry was always on guard ready to strike back if the opportunity arose.

With one last sigh, he went to change his clothes for his daily run around the block.

The air whipped past his face as he ran down the pavement. He had taken to running, at Hogwarts, after the incident at the ministry. He'd found it one of the few ways he could clear his head. And it had gotten him away from the worried glances of his friends.

He smiled at the thought of his friends. He wondered what Ron and Hermione had been up to so far this summer. He envisioned Hermione busy doing all the homework set for the summer and Ron sleeping late and ignoring Hermione's nagging. He had sent them owls of course, but he guessed that there were restrictions on what they could talk about, like there was last summer. This meant short and vague replies.

It was only two weeks into the summer, and already their letters had almost been reduced to mere certification that they were alive. It was disheartening to think that, these were the people he talked to everyday, who he had shared nearly every moment of the school year with, only to be completely cut off in the summer.

It was a lonely experience.

The sound of his pounding feet and beating heart was the only sound that filled his ears as he ran out of the estate and toward a nearby park. He shook his head as he passed the spot where he had first come across Sirius in his animagus form, all those years ago. It felt at times like Sirius was haunting him or at least the memory of him was.

He had run about two miles when he arrived at the local park. He stopped to catch his breath as his blood pounded around his body, creating a rushing sound in his ears. When his heart had slowed down, he heard voices from the children's play area.

Looking up, he was surprised to see Dudley and his gang laughing, holding up what looked like a young teenager between them. He sighed loudly and cursed his Gryffindor spirit.

'Oy! Dudley, bulling small children again I see. What a big man you are!' he yelled walking up to the gang.

They all turned to look at Harry and dropped the teenage boy, who scurried away looking relived and only a little worse for wear. Dudley seemed to have lost some weight over the last year but his clothes seemed worn and worse for wear.

'Ahh, Potter. Survived the year then, did you? Shame' he said with a bored expression 'Still having nightmares? Cedric... Cedric... take me... take me...' Dudley's attempt to mimic Harry's voice was not a pleasant sound.

'I was wondering where you were hiding. But I see you been staying with your boyfriends.' Harry replied lazily.

Dudley's face flushed,

'How dare you...' he moved to punch him, but Harry moved out of the way. Dudley quickly collected himself.

'Seems to me, it's you who should be hiding' he pointed at Harry's face. Dudley turned to his friends and pretended be Harry having a fight and losing badly. Harry grimaced at the sight, flushing slightly at it and how close to the truth it was.

'You think you hard, do you? So why did you move out of home? Your father too tough for you?' he knew he was hitting below the belt, but he was angry and wanted to know what had happened between Vernon and Dudley. A red flush came to Dudley's cheeks.

All the tension and stress, which had been building since he arrived at Privet drive, seemed to come to the surface and he wanted a way to release it. A fight with Dudley would be perfect.

Dudley almost charged at him and swinging at him. Harry blocked most of his attempts and even got a few of his own in. After a while, his friends moved in and broke them apart. Harry looked down at his hand, and saw they were coved in blood. He looked up and saw that Dudley's nose was bleeding. The fight in him seemed to deflate like a balloon.

He had purposely hurt someone and it didn't make him feel any better, the anger was still simmering beneath his skin. He had acted just as Vernon does, using someone else as a punch bag when it was themselves who they were angry at.

He was no better a man than Vernon was.

'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said what I said' he apologised to Dudley. His friends let them go. Harry turned to leave but Dudley wasn't finished.

'Don't you ever talk about my father like that, Potter! At least I have a father, unlike some. Your father was a good for nothing, a drunk who got his wife killed in a car, drink driving.' He sneered. Harry had almost forgotten the tale that he had been told growing up about his parents. His body quivered with anger.

'He was not a drunk. He was murdered along with my mother. My father was a good man' He said through gritted teeth.

'And what, my father isn't?' Dudley moved in close, hands in front of him ready to punch.

'Are you really asking me that? You know what your father is like.'

'No, tell me Potter. What is my father like?'

Harry paused to think about what was the best reply. But he found he couldn't lie.

'He's a drunk. He beats up people because he cannot control his temper. He's the one who, beat me black and blue, starved me and locked me in a cupboard!' he was shaking. All the anger over his childhood came bursting out. 'He is not a good man, and if you had any sense you would realise this too.'

Dudley's face, so like his father's, had turned red.

He signalled to his friends, who grabbed Harry's arms and pinned him up against a nearby tree. Harry resigned what would happen next, watched as blood trickled down Dudley's face, and dripped onto the floor. He was wrong to start the first fight, but he felt he needed to tell Dudley what sort of man his father was. He wanted Dudley to know, in case he ever came up against Vernon, for the man would have no mercy, not even for his own son.

There was a flash of silver as Dudley pressed a sharp knife up against his neck, pressing hard enough to make a little bit of blood spill.

'My father is not a bad man. He is just having a bad time... since he lost his job and such...' he muttered. He looked at his friends and seemed to toughen up and stand up straight.

'It's not been made any easier, by having a freak like you around! You deserve everything you get Potter!' he moved and slashed out at Harry's face. A torrent of blood poured down his face. Dudley's eyes seemed to widen, scared.

His friends let go of Harry, who slid down the tree, clutching his face. Dudley dropped the knife, which clattered on the floor. They all looked at each other and made a dash for it before a member of the public saw them.

Under his half closed eyes, Harry watched the teenager leave. He moved to examine the wound on his face. Dudley had cut him through his left eyebrow and face, a relatively small cut for all the blood. He wondered if he would need stitches. He hoped not. A knife wound would be hard to explain without a fuss at a hospital and he had been warned by the Order, that Death Eaters were on the lookout for any records, medical or otherwise, to locate him.

He stood up and pulled of his black t-shirt and began mopping away the blood. It would do no good for someone to call the police because he was walking home with blood streaming down his face. Hoping he had cleaned most of it off, he put his t-shirt back on and started to walk away, glad to be wearing a black t-shirt which would hide the blood stains.

The sunlight glimmered on the knife which Dudley had left. He hesitated for a moment before picking it up and putting it in his pocket. It wouldn't be good for some kid to pick it up. And maybe, just maybe it would come in use some day. He looked around the park once last time, savouring the vast greenery and began a slow jog back to the Dursley's.

* * *

Authors Note: If you have time please review, or if you have any constructive criticism, please inform me. Thanks. Oh, and thanks for reading.


End file.
